Forgotten Realms and Fallen Empires
by ordinaryguy2
Summary: The Last Witch Hunter gets sent to a sword-and-sorcery dimension... and discovers that the World's Blondest Slayer wasn't an only child. Set fifteen years after "Different City/Same Old Crap" By Carycomic
1. Chapter 1

**Forgotten Realms and Fallen Empires**

by Carycomic

 **Author's foreword:** _This story- -primarily, a BTVS /TLWH crossover- -was partially inspired by a fantasy rpg idea suggested by Vrakmul over at Comic Vine. It is therefore his intellectual property and I am merely using a variant of it with only the utmost respect and admiration in mind. The rest of the characters and concepts are copyrighted by (and enriching) a whole bunch of people other than me! Particularly, the owners of CRUEL INTENTIONS, DUNGEONS & DRAGONS, DUNGEON SIEGE, DRAGON CHRONICLES: FIRE AND ICE, MAGIC: THE GATHERING, SIMPLY IRRESISTIBLE, TROLL and WORLD OF WARCRAFT (et al)._

 **NEW YORK, NEW YORK**

 **(MAR. 27, 2014)**

"Meet Ethan Rayne," said Dolan 36. "Nephandic half-brother of the late Dr. Derek Rayne. Perhaps the greatest Precept of San Francisco House in Legacy history! Seventeen years ago, Ethan was Embraced by a Caitiff called Drusilla. Following which, he became partially blood-bonded to Dracula, himself! He then diablerized a relatively harmless Kiasyd, named Clem... which, in turn, automatically rendered him a minor affiliate of the Sabbat, as well."

The clerical scribe threw several blown-up photographs down on the table top. Three of them, Kirlian photos of the vampires in question. Kaulder picked up the first one, however, and looked at it, very intently.

"Heh!" he grunted. "A vampirized chaos-worshiper. Definitely _not_ a good thing!"

"No, indeed," replied Dolan. "That's why the Watchers' Council brought him to our attention. Their Slayers are too preoccupied keeping the Cleveland Hellmouth from getting out of hand."

"Do they have any idea why he's here?"

Dolan shook his head.

"All they know is that he met with an Immortal named Benny Carbassa, who keeps his head by peddling information to the highest bidder. That's how he came to the attention of the Watchers!"

"And why they've now made him our headache," added Kaulder with a grin.

Whereupon, the world's oldest witch hunter went over to a tall cabinet with a most-unusual picture embossed on its walnut-stained oak doors. A trio of Greek Orthodox crosses, a large center one with two smaller versions at eleven o'clock and five o'clock, respectively, and a battle axe intersecting the center cross from seven o'clock to one o'clock, all done in gold leaf!

 **THE WORLD OF DARKNESS, BRONX ZOO**

They materialized in a shimmer that went completely unnoticed due to the dimly-lit surroundings of the closed-down exhibit.

There were four of them; three men and a woman. The oldest of the men (a bushy-bearded Caucasian with salt-and-pepper hair) appeared to be in his mid-forties. The goatee-sporting Chinese-American man, to his left, looked ten years younger. While to his right stood an exotically beautiful woman (apparently in her mid-twenties) with long black hair and moderately light-brown skin.

All three of them were staring at the red-haired white man with the defiantly mischievous grin on his face.

"Are you sure you have it straight, now?" demanded the salt-and-pepper male (often referred to as "Alpha").

"Yes-yes-yes! What do you think I am; a sodding congenital idiot?"

"No. Simply an attention-deficit trickster who needs to accept the fact, once and for all, that _nothing_ is permanently chaotic, in and of itself! Chaos is simply part of the Grand Design. The process by which older, ineffective orders make way for newer, better ones."

"Fine, then. Ethan Rayne, Avatar of Chaos, at your service."

The exaggerated bow that followed only served to emphasize the blatant sarcasm in Ethan's voice. He then shimmered away to his next stop. At which point, the young woman (sometimes referred to as "Gamma") looked at their acknowledged leader.

"Are you sure that recruiting him was such a good idea? The man's even more incorrigible than he was as a mortal!"

"Perhaps," replied Alpha. "But, if our latest attempt to create the first link, in a pan-dimensional chain of Utopias, is to finally succeed, we need someone with a suitably devious mind working for us."

"Once it has," asked the one called Beta. "...can we destroy him, then?"

"Most assuredly."

 **LONDON, ENGLAND**

 **(JAN. 28, 1981)**

The three dour-looking men met in the office of Sir Roger Wyndham-Pryce; Precept of the Legacy's Ruling House.

"What do you mean, _'It was a false alarm_ '?" demanded Quentin Travers, Chairman of the Council of Watchers.

"I went to L.A. Community General Hospital as directed," replied William Sloan, Sir Roger's personal leg man. "I met with my cousin, Mark, on the prearranged pretext. And the only unusual occurrence he mentioned, in the course of our conversation, was the disappearance of two newborn infants from the maternity ward nursery. Two-thirds of a set of triplets, in fact! His son, Steve, is one of the multitude of police officers assigned to locating them."

"Were they girls, by any chance?" inquired Sir Roger, in a somewhat softer voice.

Sloan nodded, adding that the only other birth of note, at that hospital, had been that of Hank and Joyce Summers' own daughter.

"Before you ask, though," he concluded. "...I managed to sneak a peek at some of the proud parents' baby pictures. No Mark of Sinea anywhere on her person!* I must therefore conclude that either the Mark is on one of the abducted girls. Or our usual locator spells aren't working properly, for some reason. In any event, we must continue looking for new Potentials elsewhere!

 **WOODSIDE, QUEENS**

 **NEW YORK CITY**

 **(MARCH 27, 2014)**

Benny Carbassa exited the Cock & Bull Pub, guzzling on a bottle of his favorite beer as he headed towards the nearest subway station. While passing the entrance to a nearby alley, however, he suddenly lost his grip on the bottle as he found himself being hauled into it by a pair of inescapably brawny hands! The right one of which was soon holding a broadsword at his neck, while the left one kept him pinned to the alley wall.

"Hello, Benny," Kaulder practically sang out. "What can you tell me about Ethan Rayne in the three seconds you have left... before I decapitate you? One."

"Y-Y-You're bluffing, Kaulder," Benny stammered. "You're not that kind of Immortal. My Quickening would be wasted!"

"You're point being...? Two."

"OK! Okay. He wanted me to inform him as to when a certain mortal convict was getting out of prison. I did. He then wanted me to keep track of all her movements! I did that, too. And then. . ."

"Wait a second," ordered Kaulder, edging the sword closer. "Back up. ' _Her movements?_ ' This ex-convict is a woman?"

"Y-Y-Yeah! And, today, he wanted me to tell him where she was going to eat!"

"Really. And where, if anyplace, is she eating out, today?"

"A place called ' _Shelton's_ ' on Fifth Avenue."

"Hello, sir," said the head waitress. "Welcome to Shelton's! How may we help you?"

"Thank you. Table for two, for lunch, please. My guest should be joining me, shortly."

"Certainly," replied the middle-aged woman. "Although, all our tables are filled at the moment. But, I can take down your name, so you can wait in the bar until I announce a vacancy has opened up "

"That would be fine," replied Ethan with a grin. "The name is Connor. Rhett Connor!"

 **tbc**

* _See DIFFERENT CITY/SAME OLD CRAP._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2.**

 **1329 PRESCOTT STREET,**

 **SAN FRANCISCO, CALIF.**

 **(JUNE 27, 1999)**

Sirius Black threw the book down on the glass-topped coffee table in the conservatory.

"Hey! Watch it!" exclaimed Piper Halliwell.

The expatriate Englishman acted as if he had never even heard her. "Let me get this straight. On this world, I'm a fictional character?!"

Prue Halliwell shrugged and nodded. "I'm afraid so."

"But, how is that even possible?" he countered.

"Well, according to the Book of Shadows," replied Phoebe Halliwell, "some people are so psychic (even latently) that they can actually have visions of parallel worlds in their dreams! Author H.P. Lovecraft was one such. So, maybe J.K. Rowling was, too."

"Take my word for it," replied Colin Mallory. "Parallel-Earths definitely exist. Identical in every way, except historically."

"Let's test that theory," challenged Sirius. "A Lycan friend of mine once told me a story about a certain incident that occurred in the Gevaudan region of France back in the mid-eighteenth century. It seems a Shadowlord/Red Talon metis named Blackfang led several lupine Kinfolk on a three-year killing spree of humans! Most modern Lycans prefer to credit the final suppression of those renegades to Blackfang's homid Kinfolk half-brother; M'sieur Jean Chastel. But, in truth, Jean had a little help."

 **SOUTH-CENTRAL FRANCE (1767)**

Chastel had been lured into a trap. But not before he had managed to make four of his attackers precede him into the afterlife by firing both barrels of each St. Denis Model 1750 over-under flintlock pistol with unerring accuracy. But, the Lycans that followed had not only managed to unhorse him, they had also successfully hounded him into fleeing on foot. Thereby not giving him one spare moment to reload those pistols from his precious bag of blessed silver ammunition! A bag that now lay at the roots of the tree he had been so hard-pressed to climb, in time.

"Come down, little brother," growled Blackfang in an unmistakably gloating tone. "Come down, now, and we will grant you a mercifully swift death. You have my word!"

"Expecting a deranged Lycan to honor his word," observed a new and decidedly female voice, "is like asking a two-year-old child not to be terrible. Virtually guaranteed not to happen!"

The homicidal metis spun about, as did the quasi-sentient wolves accompanying him. There, standing between them and the cadaver of Chastel's horse stood a woman only slightly taller than the dwarfish Kinsman!* A woman wearing a red jerkin over a black shirt (with matching belt, trousers, and boots). With her face partially concealed by the hood of a red riding cloak; and with her arms concealed by its draping folds.

"Go away, woman! We seek other prey, this day."

The woman suddenly raised her arms above her head. Violently throwing the folds of her cloak back over her shoulders in the process! This, in turn, revealed the silver battle ax in her right hand; the silver short sword in her left hand and her smiling face to the full view of Blackfang.

The latter could only gasp in horrified astonishment. "You!"

 **NEW YORK CITY (MARCH 27, 2014)**

Katherine Merteuil sat bolt upright as her alarm clock rudely awakened her from the strange nightmare she had been having. For a second or two, she was completely disoriented as to her name and whereabouts. Then, it all came flooding back to her. Causing her to lean to her left and turn off the alarm with as much vindictively brute force as she could muster with her clenched right fist.

"Shit-shit-shit-shit-SHIT!" she muttered half-aloud. "I cannot afford to be late my first day of work."

Fifteen minutes later, the paroled drug offender was grabbing a subway train at the station nearest her Greenwich village halfway house. Twenty minutes after that, she was punching her time card just inside the employees' entrance at the back of Shelton's Restaurant.

"Oh!" exclaimed a strangely familiar voice. "You must be the new waitress. Hi! I'm the owner, Amanda Shelton."

Katherine turned about, her right arm instinctively extended to shake hands. That is; till she got a good look at her new boss and vice-versa. One was a redhead; the other was blonde. But, aside from that?

They could have passed for identical twin sisters.

 **SAN FRANCISCO (1999)**

"Nope!" said Piper after leaving through the Book of Shadows some more. "According to this, the Chastel of our world was aided by a professional witch hunter named Kaulder. Between the two of them, they exposed the Beast of Gevaudan as actually being the pet _lion_ of an African witch doctor secretly working for one of the vampire clans of Paris! Some outfit called 'Maison D'Eclipse.' "

"A Setite bloodline," explained Sirius. "Usually working in cahoots with Clan LaSombra of the Sabbat. At least, on my world."

"Though that doesn't help them get back where they belong," observed Harry Potter, Junior (somewhat sarcastically). "Does it?"

"Maybe it does," remarked Piper. "The Book of Shadows identified that witch doctor as belonging to a vampire clique called 'Xi Dundu.' Which made me do a little further research. The Gangrel Clan have an African affiliate known as the 'Akunanse.' They, in turn, have an association with the were-spider tribe called the Ananasi, who have a caste nicknamed 'the phase spiders' from their ability to fade in and out of third dimensional space as easily as Leo can orb!"

"I have a hunch where this is heading," said Phoebe. "And it's giving me the heebie-jeebies!"

"Do you have a _better_ idea for sending Colin and Sirius back home?" admonished Prue.

Piper turned to her husband. "Could you orb over to Daedalus' lair, and ask him to ask Prince Julian to ask the Gangrel primogen if he could set up a meeting between us and the local branch of the Akunanse?"

"That's a pretty tall order, sweetheart," replied the Whitelighter. "The Camarilla's become pretty reclusive since the Glordelia incident. Keeping themselves at arms' length from all the other supernatural inhabitants of the city!"

"If you have to," countered his wife, "remind His Highness that he _owes_ us for helping him to hang on to ' _his_ ' city.

 **NEW YORK CITY (2014)**

"Hello, there!" exulted the head waitress. "Welcome to Shelton's. How may I help you?"

"I'm here for lunch with a Mr. Rhett Connor," replied the younger woman (an Amerasian brunette).

"Ah, yes! Mr. Connor has just been taken to his table. Follow me, please?"

Ninety seconds later, the brunette was shaking hands with her latest "client."

"Mr. Connor? I'm Gwen Raiden."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Ethan formally intoned for the head waitress' benefit.

The latter seated his "plus one" before presenting both of them with menus and stating that their server would be right with them, after which, Ethan got right to the point.

"Do you have it?" he asked in an eager whisper.

Gwen nodded, removing it from the left inner pocket of her black pleather jacket to show him.

"Hermione Granger's time turner from the film adaptation of _'Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ '."

Ethan gazed at the movie prop. A pocket watch that resembled nothing less than a poor man's model of the planet Saturn!

"You know," said Gwen, staring at her "client," quite pointedly, "there was an unusual amount of security at that _'movie memorabilia_ ' warehouse you sent me to, in South Dakota. Plainclothes guards armed with steampunk-looking TASER's?"

Ethan grinned. "What's the matter, my dear? I thought you had a high tolerance for electrical shock."

"I do. But, the effort those guards put into trying to stop me? Plus, the size of that place, in proportion to the extent of their collection? I think you've been holding out on me, Mr. Connor. Which makes me wonder how much this little artifact is _truly_ worth."

Ethan's grin disappeared faster than a re-elected politician's memory. "Do I detect an imminent shake-down for more money than we initially agreed upon?"

Now, it was the world's greatest cat burglar who grinned.

"In the immortal words of Bugs Bunny? ' _Hmmm! Could be!_ ' "

To which Ethan had only one response. "Accio!"

 **5 MINUTES EARLIER**

"Whoa!" exclaimed Katherine. "Am I looking into some kind of fun house mirror or something?"

"Or something," replied the equally awe-struck Amanda. "How on Earth...?"

Her half-idle speculation was vociferously interrupted by her business manager/husband, Tom Bartlett.

"Honey? Is this the new waitress? Good! Because, the orders waiting for pick-up are starting to get back-logged! Let's put her to work, ASAP."

Amanda nodded, before whispering to her redheaded doppelganger. "We'll talk during your break."

At about that same moment, Kaulder approached the front window of Shelton's. He was dressed in a Navy-blue business suit beneath a dark brown trench coat from London Fog. And on his face, he wore a pair of Foster Grant sunglasses. Not that the lunch-time sun was that bright! Far from it. These particular sun glasses had been blessed, a long time back (by one of Dolan's thirty-five namesake predecessors) as a means of penetrating whatever glamour spell a witch might be using to try and camouflage themselves from his naked eyes. Nor did they fail him, in that regard, right now.

There, almost dead-center of the main dining room, was his quarry. The stereotypical facial features of a Kiasyd vampire clearly present through the lenses of the Foster Grants. It had the basic characteristics of somewhat saggy skin around the facial cheeks, plus, pointed ears drooping downward like the floppy ones of a Basset hound!

Kaulder smiled and went inside.

The Daughters of the Phoenix were a militant splinter faction of the Verbenae dating back to 1692.

The religious hysteria generated by the infamous Salem Witch Trials had brought about a number of copycat hangings and stonings around the rest of Massachusetts. Not as well-publicized, perhaps, but, certainly no less fatal to their intended targets, most of whom had belonged to the matriarchal Verbena faction known as "The Gardeners." The scattered handful who survived became the wards of the Sisters of Hippolyta. A similarly matriarchal Craft dating back to ancient Greece. Originally a Black Fury sept, composed entirely of female Kinfolk, they had emulated the Amazons of legend by banding together along paramilitary lines, in an effort to defend themselves from persecution by some of the more rigidly patriarchal leaders of polytheistic religions who saw them as unwanted rivals.

By the dawn of the twentieth century, however, the Daughters of the Phoenix had gone their mentors one better. Not only by expanding their membership to include female Kinfolk from other Garou septs, like the Fenrir Valkyria of Freya. But, also, with regard to studying the magical and martial arts of other esoteric feminist groups like the Phoenix School of the Akashic Brotherhood. With cross-training like that, it was not long before the Daughters of the Phoenix were working as bounty hunters for the rest of the supernatural community. Especially when it came to protecting their own kind from so-called "Christian" witch hunters like the Order of the Ax and Cross!

That was how Lynn Smith and her fifteen-year-old daughter, Bianca, happened to recognize Kaulder as he entered the front door of Shelton's.

Katherine found herself approaching a table occupied by a well-dressed man in black with hair almost as red as hers and a highly attractive woman who appeared to be of part-Japanese heritage. And, based on the tail end of their conversation, they must have been discussing old Warner Brothers cartoons just before she arrived. Before she could adopt a fake smile, and utter her well-rehearsed greeting, however, she heard the MIB mutter a strange word.

"Accio!"

Whereupon, there was a flash of light from the palm of his date's right hand. Followed by a flash of near-simultaneous light from his left hand!

"Thank you, Ms. Raiden," gloated Ethan. "I believe this concludes our business."

That was a mistake. For that little bit of bragging managed to snap Gwen out of her otherwise inevitable micro-second of open-mouthed amazement. Consequently, prompting her to spring to her feet; fling the whole table angrily to her left; and, then, generate two balls of deadly-looking electricity.

 **Tbc**

 **Glossary-**

 **". . .dwarfish Kinsman":** _imagine bad-ass little character actor Peter Dinklage ("X-Men: Days of Future Past") dressed like a 17th-century French musketeer._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3.**

 **NEW YORK CITY**

 **MARCH 27, 2014**

 **(5 MIN. EARLIER)**

After eight hundred years of witch hunting, Kaulder had developed a kind of sixth sense for being watched by less-than-friendly eyes. So, when he suddenly got that same old tingle here in Shelton's, he stopped to carefully look around. Sure enough; he found himself being scrutinized by a thirty-something blonde woman with close-cropped hair wearing a blue turtleneck with black slacks and matching high heels, while the teenage girl with her had long brown hair offset by a red turtleneck, blue midi-skirt, black boots, and a green crocheted beret.

All that taken in during the one or two moments it took them to look back down at their menus, in a futile attempt at pretending they had _not_ been studying him.

Suddenly, there was a crash from behind him. Reminded of his original reason for coming here, he turned back toward his quarry. There, he saw an over-turned table and an Amerasian woman in black "pleather" standing over Ethan Rayne. Balls of lightning forming around her clenched fists!

That was enough for Kaulder. He immediately ran forward; his right hand already palming a pepper spray canister filled with holy water. It had been intended primarily for the Kiasyd who was evidently wearing a good amount of sunblock. Yet, while it wouldn't burn her flesh the same way it would a vampire's, it would still incapacitate this witch just long enough for him to drag Rayne out of the restaurant.

Unfortunately, the situation swiftly became more complicated by two unforeseen events. The first being that Lynn and Bianca Smith thought Kaulder was attacking their client, Ethan Rayne! So, naturally, they sprang to their feet; power-draining athames at the ready.

The second unexpected thing that happened was Ethan shimmering out of harm's way at the exact second Gwen unleashed her twin lightning bolts. Then rematerializing behind Katherine Merteuil who promptly became his human shield.

"Temper, temper, dearie! You're supposed to be a professional. Remember?"

"Not when it comes to being stiffed, I'm not. Give me my money, Connor. Now!"

"You mean, the amount we originally agreed upon? Or the additional one you were going to try and extort from me?"

"Both!"

"I'm afraid that's out of the question, now. So sorry!"

"Trust me; you're going to be even sorrier."

Gwen began charging up again. Instantly making Kaulder realize he could not run fast enough to stop her. So, he improvised. Switching the atomizer to his left hand, he sprayed some of the holy water into a tumbler of ice water atop the table nearest him. He then threw that tumbler like a baseball straight in Gwen's direction. The bio-electric cat burglar, seeing that motion out of the corner of her eye, reacted accordingly. She turned to her right and zapped the tumbler in mid-air!

Simultaneously, the mother/daughter team of Phoenixes threw their power-draining athames at Kaulder's back. Forcing Kaulder to divert his attention and intercept their trajectory with the bottom of a hastily lifted chair! Meanwhile, Amanda Shelton, having seen what was happening from the double doors leading to the kitchen, ran just as quickly towards her office. But, instead of calling the police, as most of her employees naturally assumed she was going to do, she went to the aquarium holding her enchanted pet fiddler crab.

"Help me, Stradivarius!"

Whereupon, the quasi-sentient crustacean began rubbing his smaller right claw across his much larger left one. Resulting in Amanda being teleported, along with a hastily grabbed flower pot, into the dining room. Right behind Ethan and Katherine! Unfortunately, Ethan had sensed that sudden surge of mystical power so similar to the feeling of his own shimmers. Prompting him to spin about and face Amanda, just as she materialized with her flower pot already held above her head in preparation for a painful downward strike.

"You wouldn't clobber your own sister. Would you, my dear?"

"Sister?!" both women echoed as one.

That gave Ethan the chance he had been waiting for. "Time for us to leave, ladies."

Whereupon, he pressed the button atop the time turner. Making all three of them disappear into a chrono-spatial teleportal!

Kaulder, however, only witnessed that disappearance, peripherally. Because, at that very moment, he was hurriedly twirling his improvised shield behind him, in order to let the twin lightning bolts hit the power-draining athames! The aforementioned knives normally drained _magic_ power from a Daughter of Phoenix's target/opponent. Automatically relaying it to the athame's owner, instead. But, in this case, it was the double whammy of electrical charge and much higher power that was relayed to the Smiths. Thereby doing to them what shotgun recoil would do to a first-time trap shooter.

Knocking them flat on their asses!

For her own part, Gwen saw none of that. As she had merely and instinctively, turned her head to avoid flying micro-particles of glass thereby proving to Kaulder that she was no witch.

"Probably a superhuman mutant," he could not help thinking to himself. "Like in those Hugh Jackman movies."

Yet, all further ruminations along such pop-cultural lines were rendered moot by the sound of approaching police sirens. Prompting he and Gwen to flee the scene in opposite directions. She, out the nearest fire exit after first short-circuiting the fire alarm built into it; and he, out the back door of the kitchen. After first brandishing a commandeered meat cleaver (very, very briefly) to show that he was serious about his departure!

 **COMMUNITY GENERAL HOSPITAL,**

 **LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA**

 **(JANUARY 18, 1981)**

Mrs. Emma Peel, currently better known as "Dr. Barbara Drummond", looked at the astral body of the woman standing before her.* A woman visible only to her!

"Are you sure this is really necessary?"

Magga- -Stargazer Kinfolk ragabash; Verbena Moon-seeker; Hermetic wizardess of House Shaea; headmistress of the Phoenix School of the Akashic Brotherhood (via their 1949 merger with the Wu Lung Craft); and, now, sole-surviving Guardian of Sinea's Daughters- -nodded.

"Quentin Travers' misogynistic paranoia, about the Slayers, has not diminished since that fateful day you broke his nose over your near-fatal allergic reaction to the strength-dampening potion used for the Cruciamentum. Just the opposite, in fact! And I refuse to let that endanger these three little innocents. Better to abduct two, and separately give them up for adoption, so that each has a relatively equal chance at a normal childhood."

So saying, she ended her astral projection. Indicating to the semi-retired secret agent that their meeting was over. . .and she must now return to accomplishing her mission.

 **SOUTH-CENTRAL FRANCE (1767)**

The strange-looking duo was burning the last of the Garou bodies when they beheld an even stranger sight. The arrival, in a bright flash of light, of two women and a man. The latter standing over the prone forms of the former with a most fiendish grin upon his face. And with all of them wearing the strangest clothes the other two had ever seen!

"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed Jean Chastel. "What new sorcery is this?"

Helene Frisson (a Sister of Gabrielle from the convent of St. Valerie du Petit Chaperone Rouge) was completely and literally at a loss for words. She was that much more astounded than him. Unfortunately, that allowed Ethan time enough to shimmer in behind her and knock her out with a blackjack! He then shimmered the both of them back over to the other two women before activating the time turner once more. . .

. . .and making off with all three women, in the process.

The first thing Kaulder did, upon reaching the safe obscurity of a crowded sidewalk, was to whip out his cellphone and speed-dial Dolan 36.

"It's me. Don't talk! Just listen. I found Rayne, but he got away due to some Phoenix Daughters finding me! Call the NYPD Chaplains' Unit and have them arrange for the confiscation of any and all video security footage of the fight on behalf of the Vatican Swiss Guards (Criminal Investigation Division); UN Apostolic Delegation."

"Understood," replied Dolan. "Where will you be in the interim?"

"Greenwich Village, visiting the head of the local chapter. I want to see if she knows some of her people are working for a suckhead!"

Twenty minutes later, he emerged from a subway station conveniently located half a block up from his destination. A YWCA with a huge mural of a newly reborn Phoenix painted on the brick wall facing in his direction.

He entered the half of the building housing the gymnasium and went up to the desk, where a twenty-something young brunette with her hair in a pony-tail smiled at him.

"Good afternoon, sir! How may I help you?"

"Yes! I'd like to register my younger sister for one of your self-defense classes. Does Ms. Gam still teach the Phoenix system of baguazhang kung fu, here?"

Eurasian by birth (Russian mother/Korean father), Amal Gam was a member of the Wu Lung Craft whom he had helped defect to the United States, from Shanghai, China, at the height of Mao Tse Tung's so-called 'Cultural Revolution' back in the mid-1960's.

"Oh, yes! She just got back from lunch, in fact. Would you like to see her?"

"That'd be great," said Kaulder with his most winning smile of gratitude.

The young woman led him into the private office beyond the anteroom that served as her own office. She opened the door with the frosted glass window pane and gestured for him to proceed ahead of her. Yet, even as he did so, the smile he had continued to wear instantly vanished. Replaced by a look of shocked realization when he saw his old friend cocooned like a caterpillar! He then spun back around, while simultaneously drawing his hidden broadsword, in one fluid motion.

Only to find the young brunette replaced by an anthropomorphic spider. . .who immediately blinded him with a face full of webbing.

 **Tbc**

 **Special note:** _"Barbara Drummond" was Diana Rigg's character in THE HOSPITAL (1971) starring George C. Scott_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 **By Carycomic**

Amal Gam (not her real name, of course) had been born in the International Settlement of Depression-era Shanghai. Her parents- -a Korean-born Hakken* theurge and a Russian Silent Strider ahroun- -had first met while studying kailindo with the Stargazers of the Zephyr sept. Tragically, however, they had both died, during World War II, while helping Kaulder rescue some missionaries from a cult of cross-dressing sorcerers, called the Wu Keng, in Japanese-occupied Burma. More specifically; they had been killed while battling a conjured-up entity called a rakshasa that had resembled nothing less than the love-child of a tiger and an octopus!

Feeling honor-bound to repay their courageous sacrifice, Kaulder had brought the now orphaned ten-year-old to the Phoenix School. With Headmistress Magga gratefully agreeing to raise the girl as her own. Twenty years after that, he had helped her emigrate to the Big Apple, under her present assumed name, so she could continue giving martial arts lessons as a front for recruiting new members into the Daughters of the Phoenix.

All these thoughts ran through Kaulder's head as he succumbed to the narcoleptic properties of the webbing that was beginning to cover him- -quite literally- -from head to foot. Most of his concern being for the second-best friend he had ever made after Dolan 36. Indeed, the only thought Kaulder had for himself was the realization that he was starting to lose his balance!

 **SAN FRANCISCO, CALIF. (1999)**

They orbed into Daedalus' lair, beneath the night club known as The Haven, around half-past-seven that night. The Charmed Ones were already there, having been brought by their Whitelighter on a previous trip. In addition to them, of course, there was also Daedalus, himself, the Nosferatu primogen; his Gangrel counterpart, Cash; Colin Mallory; and Sirius Black. Harry Potter, Jr. had not been able to join them as he had to stay home and study for an important test scheduled for his first class at high school the next morning! So, he had bid his two newest friends good-bye in the privacy of his bedroom before Leo Wyatt orbed them to the rendezvous.

"Are we all here?" said Cash somewhat impatiently. "Good! Then, let me introduce you to _'Night John'_ Jones of the Akunanse Laibon. Gangrel Prince of Oakland!"

A regal-looking black man stepped out of the shadows behind Cash. He wore a brown kaftan that exposed nothing but his interlocked hands and bare feet. And as he stood back up from his bow of greeting, it was quickly obvious that he was intermediate in height between his two Kindred hosts. That is, shorter than Daedalus, but taller than Cash!

"I am told that two of you wish to avail yourselves of an Athasaia's power."

Colin and Sirius raised their hands as one. With the former adding. "No offense, sir. But, is that what your people call a phase spider?"

Night John smiled. "Not _my_ people. The Ananasi. Behold!"

To Phoebe's arachnophobic horror, a whole swarm of little spiders began crawling out from the same shadows that Night John had been hiding in. And, what was almost worse (from the point of view of her nauseous stomach) is that they were dog-piling on top of each other! Mounting each other, higher and higher, until they were almost parallel to Leo's forehead!

Then, and only then, did they solidify into a slightly less nauseating humanoid figure. Albeit; one that still had a face with eight eyes plus an egg-shaped carapace.

"Allow me to introduce Aranea. Viskr of the Tenere; and caretaker of the Athasaia."

The spider-mage bowed just as regally as Night John had. Only then, did he/she/it speak (with a rather high-pitched sibilance).

"It has been decided, by Our Beloved Queen, that your request shall be granted. For it is the duty of my caste to maintain the integrity of The Weave. The web of interconnected life your kind call _'the multiverse_ '! Therefore, we shall leave, now. I warn you, however. It will not be easy! There are dangerous creatures that dwell in the spaces between the strands of The Weave. Some of them, so much more frightening of countenance than I, that to look upon them would drive you mad! So, the two of you will need to be cocooned for the duration of the journey. For your own protection!"

Both Colin and Sirius nervously gulped in unison. Yet, they still managed to nod in agreement.

 **GREENWICH VILLAGE YWCA,**

 **NEW YORK CITY (2014)**

Aranea managed to capture the webbed-up witch hunter before he hit the floor. He/she/it then turned around and uttered an outcry that could only be described as half-hiss/half-whistle. Whereupon, a blue-and-white Athasaia, in Pithus form, phased into view.

"Take him to the lair and stand guard. But, remember; no harm to him, whatsoever!"

The enormous arachnoid blinked all eight of its eyes in acknowledgement. It then raised its front pedipalps and took Kaulder's sleeping form in a strong-but-gentle horizontal grip. All before phasing from view! Aranea then turned to the webbed-up woman on the back wall of the office and bowed, apologetically.

"Forgive me, venerable one. But, this could not be avoided! The Weave is in peril, and your friend is our only hope. I will, however, release you- -and all the other occupants of this building- -before I follow the Athasaia's thread back to my lair."

 **WALDORF ASTORIA HOTEL**

 **(TWO HOURS LATER)**

Lynn and Bianca Smith should have been treated as nothing more than material witnesses. But, as all the other witnesses at the crime scene basically agreed about the "funny-looking knives" that these two had thrown, they were arrested, instead, for carrying concealed weapons. Yet, as soon as Lynn was allowed to make her one phone call, she used it to contact the local branch of Wolfram and Hart!

A redhead named Lilah Morgan had them out on bail less than ninety minutes.

After escorting them to their hotel room door and promising to come by for them in the morning, she left. Whereupon, Lynn promptly went into her bedroom and brought out a snow globe that she immediately handed to her daughter. It was a special kind of snow globe, displaying a scale-model replica of the Empire State Building with King Kong upon it. In commemoration of the previous year's seventieth anniversary of that classic monster movie! Although, that was not the reason Lynn ordered Bianca to gaze into it.

"We were had! Kaulder wasn't hunting Rayne for being a simple chaos-worshiper. Did you see his shimmering? The man's a half-demon. Maybe even a vampire-gone-Baali! Either way, we've got to find where he took those girls before Kaulder declares war on our whole sisterhood!"

So, Bianca sat down on the sofa and shook the globe in order to send the white "snowflakes" flying. She then stared into the watery scene before her. Imagining the Empire State Building as if it were an aerial shot in a travelogue film. Then, she imagined that "shot" zooming in for a close-up. Closer and closer! Until, suddenly, all she could see was the observation deck on the roof of the world-famous skyscraper. And, after that; one of the coin-operated binocular telescopes for taking in the breath-taking view. The lenses of which her eyes now seemed to enter for remote-viewing Rayne's present whereabouts.

The latter was evidently in a doctor's office.

Dr. Ben Wilkinson closed and re-locked the bottom left corner drawer of his desk.

"Just so we're clear," he said, "I do this one thing for him; and I'm permanently square with Sahjahn?"

"Account paid in full, mate," replied Ethan Rayne with a triumphant grin.

Whereupon, the somewhat good doctor handed over a pair of hermetically sealed test tubes filled with some kind of glowing liquid.

"Courtesy of the Children of Knowledge," intoned Wilkinson.

"I knew a few of those blokes, back in the Sixties," replied Ethan. "They sure did love partying with the Cultists of Ecstasy!"

"Figures," the physician muttered before further adding in fair warning. "You do realize it's never been used on more than two people before."

Ethan shrugged, "You know what they say. _'First for time for everything_ '."

Wilkinson refused to be one-upped.

"As Jerry Seinfeld once said, _'I don't know who 'they' are. But, I wish 'they' would just shut up!_ ' "

Ethan had the courtesy to at least semi-legitimately laugh before shimmering away.

"Well?" demanded Lynn. "Where is he?"

"Right behind you, love."

The two Phoenix Daughters spun as one; drawing their spare athames in equally perfect unison. But, the vampirized chaos-worshiper proved faster! He threw down one of the test tubes right on top of the coffee table in front of the sofa. And the moment the glass exterior broke they were both engulfed in Greek fire.

"Let that be a lesson to you, ladies. Don't spy on the Avatars!"

He then shimmered away as the smoke alarm started beeping. Only to be drowned out, almost immediately, by all the screaming.

Kaulder sat bolt upright, gasping for air. For the first two or three seconds, he was completely disoriented. Then, he remembered what had happened. So, purely out of reflex, he went for where his broad sword should be.

Only to find it missing.

"Your weapon of choice was left behind on your native world, Kaulder of Earth. Fear not, though. We will provide you with something equally lethal when the time comes."

The witch hunter looked to his left and beheld the spider-mage who had ensnared him in the first place.

"At the risk of sounding like a bad movie; where the frig am I?!"

"You are inside what is left of a temple, in the ruined city of Myth Draenor, in a desert wasteland between the Three Kingdoms, on a continent called Midazeroerth, on a planet called Zeist… in a parallel universe."

 **Tbc**

 **Kailindo:** A martial art of the Stargazer Garou. Roughly translating as ' _Way of the Wind',_ it emphasizes/enhances speed and agility (re: self-defense and counter-offense).

 **Laibon:** _A Swahili term used by African Kindred for a vampiric bloodline._

 **Viskr:** _The Ananasi equivalent of a Garou theurge (shaman/wizard)._

 **Tenere:** _The Ananasi ruling caste. Most of whom worship a spider-goddess known as the Great Weaver._

 **Athasaia:** _The Ananasi equivalent of a Garou metis. Usually raised in a spirit realm called the Umbra._

 **Phase spider:** _A D &D monster that feeds on extra-dimensional creatures called "ethereal filchers."_

 **Children of Knowledge:** _Post-15th century alias used by a certain order of alchemists._

 **Cultists of Ecstasy:** _Mages who originally used psychedelic drugs just to foretell the future. Not so much anymore!_

 **Baali:** _Kindred term of contempt for demon-worshiping vampires._

 **Hakken:** _Japanese Kinfolk of the Shadowlord Garou._

 **"** **Night John" Jones:** _An in-joke reference to two of Carl Lumbly's best-known roles._


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5.**

 **By Carycomic**

"A parallel universe?!" echoed Kaulder, in semi-disbelief.

"Yes," replied Aranea. "Observe!"

Whereupon, the spider-mage lifted her first three arms (upper and middle left; and upper right) to conjure up the mystical equivalent of three holograms in mid-air.

"Behold! The worlds of Arda, Oerth, and Azeroth. On the latter, a cult of mogu (blue-skinned ogre magi), led by one Kor'nas Nightsavage, entered the Caverns of Time with a draconic pacification staff. Their purpose? To mind-control the bronze dragons who guard those caverns into letting Kor'nas go back in time and thereby locate a missing talisman called the Dark Staff of Annihilation. Little knowing, of course, that on the world of Oerth, a wizard called Mordenkainen had recently been brought that artifact! It was done by some adventurers who had collected it, as a souvenir, during a quest to a certain cursed cave in a mountain range called the Barrier Peaks."

"Mordenkainen placed that artifact upon a stone pedestal in the highest room of his tower stronghold, so he could cast a spell that would allow him to psychometrically learn its origins. In that regard, he succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. He learned that it had come from a whole other galaxy... far, far away!"

"Meanwhile, on Arda, another wizard, called Saruman the White, misguidedly used a scrying globe called the Palantir to try and spy upon a certain necromancer only to fall under that necromancer's spell himself! Though, even that feat was no easy task. As it required the help of the enslaved spirit of Saruman's own other-dimensional counterpart... from that same distant galaxy."

"Three different spells cast simultaneously by three different magic-users. Each spell feeding off the other two. Resulting in three different worlds, frozen in time, while orbiting this world as unnatural moons encased in massive crystal spheres!"

"Wait a minute!" exclaimed Kaulder. "Did you say ' _Saruman the White_?' But, he's. . ."

"...a figure of latter-day myth on your world," Aranea concluded. "Yes, I know. But, in this universe, he is all too real! And it is his power that is being exploited by the true evil behind this unholy plot to permanently conjoin these three worlds."

Kaulder crisscrossed his arms in open skepticism.

"Who might that be, and what do you expect me to do about it?"

"Glordelia, the Witch-Queen of Pylea. And I wish you to do what you do best. Kill her!"

"Heh!" Kaulder grunted in bemusement. "You make it sound so easy. But, if there's anything I learned in eight hundred years of witch-hunting, it's that no witch, no matter how powerful, could tap into, and modify, the three spells you describe all by herself. She'd need a coven to back her up. One twice the size of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, at least!"

"Or, failing that," replied Aranea. "...a handful of mystic talismans of collectively equal power. And, on this world, there are no talismans of greater, more ancient power... than the Silmarils. The crystalline remnants of the One Great Universe that existed before the multiverse!"

"And just where on this world does she keep these things?"

Whereupon, the spider-mage used her right middle hand to create a fourth magical hologram. This one, however, was not like a piece of movie film on freeze frame. This was more like a DVD that had been put on "mute," as it showed a scantily-clad young woman, with short brown hair, lithely moving around on a four-poster bed... while an equally half-naked young man with long black hair fed her grapes.

"Behold, Glordelia. Indeed! Take special note of the tiara atop her head."

It was as if some hidden digital video recorder zoomed in for a close-up. Thereby allowing Kaulder to see three objects embedded in the tiara. Objects that initially resembled silvery-white pearls of the finest quality. That is, till he saw them change color. Solid red, solid blue, and solid green, respectively... at first. Then, he saw swirling combinations of those colors appear on each " _pearl_ ".

"Even alexandrite can't do that," he muttered half-aloud.

"Precisely!" agreed the spider-mage.

"OK, then," said the immortal witch-hunter. "...I guess that makes my next two questions, _'Where's Pylea?_ ' and _'Who's the strange bedfellow?_ ' "

"The young woman is her lover and personal bodyguard, known only as _'The Groosalug_.' As to Pylea's location? Let me give you a mystic summary of this world's geography."

Whereupon, Aranea brought her bottom pair of hands together. The palms touching as if in a slow-motion clap. Yet, a moment later, pulling apart just as slowly. The resulting magical hologram showing a map of the immediate region that she had earlier referred to as " _The Three Kingdoms_ ".

"To the east lies the mountainous Kingdom of Carpia. Once ruled by Good Queen Luisa and her warmage-consort, Gabriel. To the north? The dragon-worshiping Kingdom of Zendikar, from whence came Carpia's undoing. The warg-riding troll hordes of Turok the Usurper! And, last but not least; to the south and west? The mighty Kingdom of Ehb, ruled by he who was once known simply as _'Farmer Jonas of Statham_ ' ".

"Statham," echoed Kaulder. "Why does that sound so familiar?"

"Perhaps you met each other in a previous incarnation," the spider-amge commented. "What is relevant is that you must journey through Ehb to reach the seaport of Baldur's Gate. It is the southernmost seaport on this continent! And it is there only that you _might_ find a ship with a captain daring enough to sail you to Pylea. For the latter is an island-nation, located on the very equator of this world! Hence, the sun- -quite literally- -never sets on it. Thereby making an unauthorized landfall... immensely difficult. Indeed; that difficulty is compounded by the fact that vertebrates of your pigmentation are subject to summary arrest and enslavement, there, by the majority population!"

"Heh!" Kaulder grunted, once more. "So what else is new?"

"There is even worse news," the spider-mage continued. "You must reach Pylea, and slay the Witch-Queen, no later than one week from today. For, if you do not, the spell she cast will be permanent. Thereby giving her three worlds' worth of raw magical power to draw upon for the completion of her plans!"

"Which are. . .?" prompted Kaulder.

"To return to- -and conquer- -your world."

There followed an awkward pause that seemed to last forever. But, which was probably no more than two or three seconds, real time, at most.

"So, let me get this straight," growled the eight hundred-year-old witch hunter. "You bring me to a parallel world, ruled by a virtual evil goddess, straight out of D&D, in order to slay her. But, I have to go to her far-off island home to do it. And you're giving me only one week? How the frig do you expect me to even get to that frigging seaport you mentioned in so short a time? Especially, when I'm stuck in the middle of this frigging desert?"

Before Aranea could even answer one of those questions, a new voice joined the conversation.

"Excitable chap. Isn't he?"

Kaulder spun about to his right, instinctively reaching for his sword before remembering that it was back on Earth. Yet, even if he had remembered, he would still have wound up frozen with open-mouthed amazement at what he saw before him now.

None other than a blue-eyed, golden-horned, and purple-coated unicorn.

 **tbc**

 **Special note:** _"Fire and Ice (The Dragon Chronicles)" was a 2008 made-for-TV movie filmed in Romania that starred Tom Wisdom as Gabriel... and Amy Acker as Princess Luisa of Carpia._


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6.**

 **SAN FRANCISCO, CALIF.**

 **EARTH-05162004***

 **(OCT. 25, 2001)**

Finn Gammil had once been an up-and-coming wizard in House Ziracah of the Order of Hermes. That is, till that fateful day, in 1780, when the rest of the order went to war against them for practicing white magic within their English lair, the Hellfire Club. The few survivors of that conflict ( _afterward known as "The Naseby Catastrophe"_ ) scattered to the winds. With Gammil, himself, joining the Setite Cult of Taweret via the Euthanatoi of Greece and the Giovanni Clan of Venice, Italy. He subsequently used the sorcery each of those groups taught him to periodically shrink-and bake alive-female practitioners of dark magic.

Most notably, the Verbenae.

Unfortunately, for him, a wizardess of House Shaea caught up to him in the 1970's and permanently rendered him too physically ugly to ever again appeal to any woman! Necessitating the construction of a golem, sculpted in his previous image, to serve as his proxy in seduction from that point on.

That, in turn, is why Ethan Rayne had come to this morally inverted parallel-Earth.

"Is it ready?" he bluntly demanded.

Gammil simply tilted his head to his left.

"Judge for yourself."

Ethan knelt down and looked at the curvaceous clay statue.

"Exquisite!"

"What about your end?" it was now Gammil's turn to ask.

Ethan stood back up and dangled the vial from his right hand.

"Eau du yulan-jin! One drop of this on each of their tongues... and their life essences have a new home. At least, temporarily!"

Whereupon, he used his left hand to remove the vial's cork, before withdrawing an eyedropper from his left coat pocket and inserting it into the liquid contents. Following which, he went over to where his three prisoners had been shrunken by Gammil, yet otherwise unharmed.

"Open wide and say _'Ahhh!_ ', me little beauties."

The magically immobilized women could do nothing to resist being force-fed the alchemical elixir. Let alone, spit it back out rather than involuntarily swallow it! Consequently, they soon found themselves getting drowsy. After which, three streams of mist seem to emanate from each of their shrunken nostrils. Streams of mist that seemed to expand as they each converged... before entering the golem on the diagonally slanted table.

"It's alive. It's alive!" quoted Ethan in shameless glee.

"Here's the wardrobe from the French-speaking Amazon," said Gammil, ignoring the Colin Clive plagiarism. "Get her dressed and get going! Because, the sooner you have her do what you want. . ."

"...the sooner I can bring her back here to eliminate the Charmed Ones and tilt this world's balance toward eternal good," snapped Ethan. "Yeah, yeah, yeah! Don't get your knickers in a twist, old son."

Five minutes later, Ethan and the newly-ensouled golem were gone.

 **GEVAUDAN REGION,**

 **18TH CENTURY FRANCE**

 **(EARTH-06072009)**

To most everyone else, the horse was simply a Friesian/Thoroughbred crossbreed. But, Jean knew better.

"Alright! Where is she?"

The black stallion just looked at him. Causing the little man to clench his fists and glare in anger. His voice suddenly developing a strangely echoic quality to it as if he were shouting from the top of a cliff.

"Seek not to deceive me by remaining silent, pooka! Je sui Jean Chastel bani Flambeau ex Merinite! !"

Whereupon, the stallion whinnied... as it telepathically replied. "Your fae-sight serves you well, Shadowlord. As to the whereabouts of the lass? Fear not! I'll find her. For we are bonded, she and I! Since long before she was adopted by the Sisters of Gabrielle."

The pooka then turned its equine head to its left and whinnied a second time. Whereupon, ten feet away, the air began to shimmer and ripple like water on the surface of a mirror. Thereby distracting Jean's attention from the pooka, just long enough for the latter to gallop towards the translucent portal... and jump into it, head-first!

Following which, the portal swiftly closed.

What seemed like mere seconds later, the pooka emerged upon a strangely familiar dirt road. On the right side of which stood Ethan Rayne... and a levitating blonde-haired version of the fae-horse's ward.

"Hello, hello, hello!" quipped the former. "What took you so long? Stop off for lunch and order the Two-For-One Fodder's Day Special?"

"Get your hands off of her, you nephandic blatherskite!" the pooka angrily telepathed, his eyes glowing a fiery red.

This, in turn, caused Ethan to scowl.

"Mind your words, Paddy! Or else you'll be a ghouled gelding for the rest of eternity. And, trust me! I now have enough extra power to make good on that threat."

"What have you done to her?" demanded the pooka. "And why, in blazes, did you bring her here?"

"Let's just say she has a destiny to fulfill and the time for doing so is now. Such being the case, I've taken the liberty of implanting her with some new memories... while simultaneously exhuming certain buried ones. All of them combined into one subtle, yet very powerful, geas. One guaranteed to keep both of you here till its completed!"

"Wait! What...?" exclaimed the pooka.

"Ta-ta, for now!"

Whereupon, Ethan activated his stolen time-sorter and disappeared.

 **MEANWHILE, BACK AT MYTH DRAENOR...**

"Kaulder of Earth," intoned the spider-mage. "Meet Dobin Goodfellow of Faerun."

Kaulder just stared.

"What's the matter, lad?" Dobin asked. "Never seen a talking unicorn before?"

Kaulder shook his head to end his stupefaction.

"Sorry. It's just that, where I come from, unicorns went extinct before I was even born!"

"Ah! I see. Well, in Faerun, a land south of Ehb, m' father's people are still quite plentiful."

"Your father's people?" echoed Kaulder.

"Aye! M' mother was a kelpie, or waterhorse. And, as punishment for mating outside her species, Mananan MacLeir, the sea god, stripped of her shapeshifting powers... before turning her into a purple cow for the rest of all time! I was, therefore, born a purple calf. But, Mananan MacLeir underestimated the power of m' father's heritage. I sprouted m' own full-fledged alicorn when I became a yearling. Thereby regaining m' true form. Although, retaining m' mother's coloration!"

"Glad to hear it," said Kaulder. "So, uh, what brings you here?"

"Aranea asked me to convey you to Baldur's Gate, as I can gallop ten times faster than a mortal horse. But, before we set out, you might want to dress a little less conspicuously."

Kaulder examined his wardrobe. The unicorn was right! While an Armani suit and a London Fog trench coat might help him blend in on Park Avenue, they would definitely make him stand out in a more medieval setting.

"What about it?" he addressed the spider-mage. "You think you can whip me up something to wear more appropriate for this time and place?"

Aranea chuckled. "With five hands tied behind my back."

Seconds later, Kaulder was wearing a suit of silvery-looking chain mail, offset by a white jerkin (with the silhouette of a blue unicorn jumping from left to right across a full moon), a black cape, and a red-plumed helmet. An ensemble that he was allowed to examine in a full-length mirror that Aranea likewise seemed to materialize out of thin air.

"What do you think, lad?" asked Dobin.

"Not bad!" admitted Kaulder. "But, who am I supposed to be?"

"A free-lance paladin of many mercenary associations," replied Aranea. "But, most recently retained by the Society of the Sword via the Company of Llandrydd's Steel. You still lack a weapon, of course! Yet that... is easily remedied."

Whereupon there was a flash of white light. Following which, the spider-mage's bottom pair of hands were holding a battleax even more silvery-looking than his chain mail.

"Behold!" she exclaimed. "The Ax of Gar Y'gyg!"

Kaulder gingerly took the weapon into his own hands, before swinging it back and forth and, then, twirling it like a quarterstaff.

"Oh, yeah!" he muttered with a cheerful grin.

"Wakey-wakey, lass! Time to rise and shine."

The pooka's telepathic prodding finally paid off; the strawberry blonde youngster opened her eyes.

"Bon jour, Coucou!"

"Bon jour, mon petit!"

"Como tallez vous?"

"Je vais bien. Et vous?"

"Oui. C'est tout comme avec moi."

Whereupon, Helene Frisson sat up and looked at her surroundings.

"Coucou? I have a feeling we're not in France, anymore. Or, at least, nowhere near Mont Mouchet."

"Aye, lass," replied the pooka. "The metis we helped slay was under a geas cast by the same nephandus who abducted ya. Why he went to such great lengths, to entrap ya, I've no idea. Nor can I ask him as he teleported away when I caught up to the two of ya."

Helene Frisson stood up and took a longer look around.

"Wherever we are, it looks to be late afternoon. So, what do you say we ride further to our west and see if we can find lodging for the night?"

"Sounds like a plan."

Whereupon, she mounted the black fae-stallion and urged him into a brisk trot.

It was not until half an hour later that they heard the first sounds of combat coming from somewhere ahead of them. So Coucou immediately broke into a full gallop. The two of them climbing to the top of a nearby ridge in virtually nothing flat! From there, they were able to see quite clearly what was happening. Although, the reason for what was happening was not so clear. For there, on the dirt road below them, was a melee the likes of which not even she had ever seen before.

Standing astride a dead mule was a black-bearded dwarf with a spiked buckler and a mace. While all around him were creatures that looked to be equal parts turtle, ape, and pig... battling to the death with leopard-spotted werewolves.

That was enough for her. She quickly withdrew her brace of silver hunting swords before shouting, at the top of her lungs:

"La Mort A Tous Les Loup Garous!"

 **tbc**

 **GLOSSARY**

 **Earth-05162004:** _an in-joke reference to the air date of "It's A Bad, Bad, Bad, Bad World." The two-hour Season 6 finale of CHARMED, wherein the Halliwell Sisters traveled to the San Francisco of an alternate universe, where their resident counterparts were champions of evil. Ergo; all their enemies (like Gammil from Season 4) would have been vanquished for trying to do good! Which, in turn, explains my slight revision to the canonical back story of House Ziracah from White Wolf Games' "Classic World of Darkness."_

 **Earth-06072009:** _an in-joke reference to my earlier story "The Brighter the Picture, The Darker the Negative."_

 **"...bani Flambeau" ("...of House Flambeau"):** _refers to that branch of the Order of Hermes whose wizards specialize in pyrokinetic combat._

 **"...ex Merinite" ("...from House Merinita"):** _refers to that branch of the Order of Hermes whose wizards derive most of their power from fae-magic._

 **geas:** _an irresistible mystical compulsion._

 **Coucou:** _French slang term pronounced just like the bird call associated with those cute little Swiss clocks. Usually uttered by French children while playing their version of "Peek-a-boo."_

 **Miscellaneous English translations:**

 _"How are you?"_

 _"I'm fine. And you?"_

 _"Yes, it's the same with me."_

 _"Death To All Werewolves!"_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7.**

By Carycomic

 **THE PLANET ZEIST**

As Coucou the Pookha charged down the hill at full gallop in his equine state, his rider noticed several things almost simultaneously.

First of all, the turtle/pig/ape things wore helmets and breast plates of rusty patchwork armor. That is; except for the blue sigil composed of three concentric circles indelibly inked on each breast plate. And with each of these creatures armed with some kind of halberd that they were doing their level best to try and impale their assailants upon.

Secondly; their assailants, who resembled werewolves with leopard-spotted coats, were armed with shields made from fire-hardened-and-polished wood and one-handed broadswords made from nickel-plated steel.

Last but not least? She saw that the turtle/pig/ape things seemed to be losing with the LSW's gradually drawing additional strength from those deaths. Also, the black-bearded dwarf was the only one seemingly able to knock them aside with any lethal skull-cracking proficiency.

Giving forth with a neigh loud enough to deafen all human ears save those of his rider, Coucou collided with the first group of LSW's like a living battering ram. His rider leaping out of the saddle to impale both of her silver hunting swords into the back of the nearest of those still standing! She then screamed at the top of her own lungs as she hacked and slashed at all the others. Their startled bafflement initially freezing them into fatal inaction.

Unfortunately, their inaction did not last long. Fortunately, by that point, she had managed to make her way to the dwarf's side.

"Como tallez vous, m'sieur?" she inquired of him.

"I'm afraid yours is a tongue I'm unfamiliar with, milady."

"Are you hurt?" she rephrased the question in English.

"Nay! Just winded. Whoever you are, you came along just in time."

"I am Helene Frisson, Sister of Gabrielle from the Convent Ste. Valerie du Petite Chaperon Rouge."

"Logar Ythm of the Radegasti," the dwarf replied. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"What manner of creatures are these?" she now asked as the latter slowly surrounded and advanced upon them.

"They call themselves the Ajaba. But, my people just call them ' _gnolls_ '."

"Gnolls?"

"Aye. Supposedly descended from the mixed-blood offspring of a half-gnome/half-troll hag and her were-hyena mate!"

"Whatever they call themselves," replied the young warrior woman, "we shall make them regret ever accosting you."

"Ha! I like your spirit, milady."

As if in response, a horn was blown in the distance to the north.

 **SAN FRANCISCO, CAL.**

 **EARTH-06072009 (1986)**

Turok advanced upon the SFPD officer, whose fear began to increase in direct proportion to the decrease in his sanity after he had finished emptying his service revolver into the monstrous troll. To no avail! Yet just as the frenzy of that fear was reaching its peak, something unexpected happened. A Kiasyd dressed in black appeared behind the policeman...

...and drained him dry.

Turok screamed in pure outrage and frustration. Two emotions that he tried to channel into the white beam of light that shot outward from the ring on his right hand. But that beam of light was immediately stopped, in mid-air, by a large transparent hemisphere of energy extending from the Kiasyd's right hand. Turok tried to penetrate that ad hoc shield by channeling even more of his anger into the beam. But, eventually, the force of his emotional intensity rebounded on him. Making him fly backward so that he landed in a reverse-somersault.

"Who are you?" he growled when he regained his feet.

"Someone who can help you escape this pocket dimension, Turok of Fomoria. Oh, yes! I know your true name. Just like I know you were born a changeling to House Balor of the Unseelie Court, abducted, as a wee nipper by the Black Hand revenants of the Enrathi sect; trained in Verbena magicks by the Rafastio sect; and then trained, as a spy, by the Marijava sect. All so you could infiltrate the Order of Hermes as a student of House Merinita before eventually transferring to House Tremere. It was you who corrupted the latter into first experimenting on vampires. And then, later, helped them frame House Diedne as nephandists! Of course, by the time the rest of the Order learned the truth, it was too late. The best they could do to punish you is turn you into a troll... and imprison you, here."

"How do you know all that?" demanded the troll wizard, after several awkward moments of dumbfounded amazement.

"By the same means I'll be using to take you to another world," replied the Kiasyd. "One a whole lot closer to the world you were born and raised in. And which you tried, but failed, to recreate in the here-and-now. A failure you'd have been doomed to repeat if I'd let you take over this copper!"

Five minutes later, Turok found himself in a vast cavern of ice... in front of the largest dragon he had ever seen. A golden dragon with a U-shaped pair of horns!

"Turok of Fomoria? Meet Nicobolas of Zendikar."

 **THE ROYAL PALACE OF TUROK**

 **(ONE WEEK EARLIER)**

The self-proclaimed " _Troll King of Carpia_ " watched as his seneschal, Vargo Kent, high priest of the local cell of the Cult of the Dragon, formally announced their not-so-unexpected guests.

"Presenting... Lord Szass Tam, last of the Red Wizards of Thay; and Lady Imsa the Green, emissary of the Order of the Twisted Rune!"

"Greetings, fellow mages," said Turok. "What brings you to Carpia?"

It was the verdant vision of loveliness, to his left, who replied first with as much diplomatic patience as she could muster.

"The same matter that must surely be filling you with as much trepidation as it us, _'Your Majesty_ '."

"Glordelia's forthcoming nuptials," added the Red Wizard more brusquely. "We all know what happens if she consummates. Yet, thus far, neither of us have you seen you do anything towards preventing that. Despite the agreed-upon pooling of our resources!"

"On the contrary," the troll wizard hoarsely chuckled. "I have already taken several steps to insure that wedding never takes place. Subtle steps, I admit. But, no less important ones!"

"And may we inquire as to the exact nature of those steps?" asked Lady Imsa.

"Let me put it this way. There is an old saying on the world I originally came from: _'Keep your friends close. But, your enemies, closer!_ ' Foolish advice, at first glance. But, upon closer examination, one finds it refers to the proper positioning of one's enemies..."

Here, he unexpectedly clapped his hands together. Making his two guests instinctively jump!

"... at the springing of a two-pronged trap."

 **THE RUINS OF MYTH DRAENOR**

 **(TWENTY-FOUR HOURS EARLIER)**

"Before you depart, I have two more gifts for you," said Aranea.

Whereupon, she materialized a shield in her middle and bottom left hands. A white oval shield adorned with the likeness of a silver lance outlined in gold. While her bottom right hand materialized a hollowed-out bull's horn with a black leather thong tied around its bell and mouthpiece.

"This is the signaling horn of the Flying Huntsmen. And, this is the battle shield of a Silver Lancer. Both are notoriously difficult to obtain for they who are not members of those military adventuring companies. You will thereby be shown more respect by other soldiers-of-fortune who might cross your path. And there are many such in Baldur's Gate!"

Kaulder pointed at the shield. "How am I supposed to sling that, and this battle ax, over this fancy-schmancy cape?"

Dobin Goodfellow snorted in half-serious exasperation.

"Just drape the cape over m' back, like a saddle blanket! If nothing else, it'll protect m' hide from being chaffed by your armor."

Kaulder did as the purple unicorn suggested. The latter involuntarily exhaling a bit when the witch hunter leaped on to his back in a single bound. Kaulder then turned to Aranea and asked one final question.

"What's the best route to Baldur's Gate from here?"

"Ride due west till you reach Mystara," replied the spider-mage. "The southern-most province of Ehb. Seek out a coastal village called Stonebridge, and ride due north from there."

Kaulder nodded before donning the red-plumed helmet and hunkering down on Dobin's back like a professional jockey. His hands entwining themselves in the unicorn's mane.

"The Great Weaver's blessing be upon you," said Aranea in farewell.

"I'll see you in a week," was all the witch hunter had time to say, in response, before Dobin took off in a cloud of dust.

 **tbc**

" ** _Mort Aux Morts-Vivants_** " ( _Death To The Undead_ ).

 **Belmont:** _family name of the vampire-hunting protagonists in the video game "Castlevania."_

 **Order of the Red Shield:** _vampire-hunting organization in the anime series "Blood +" (pronounced "Blood Plus")._

 **Barovia:** _homeland ruled by vampiric Count Von Strahd in the D &D spin-off video game "Ravenloft."_

 **Sir Adol:** _heroic protagonist of the anime series "Ys" based on a video game series of the same name._

 **Rouge:** _a mysterious belly-dancing fortune teller who aids Sir Edward Falcon in "The Power Stone", an anime spin-off of the eponymous Capcom video game._


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8.**

 **ROYAL PALACE OF TUROK,**

 **KINGDOM OF CARPIA**

 **(ONE WEEK EARLIER)**

Vargo Kent escorted Turok's two guests to their respective rooms. Szass Tam, first; followed by Imsa the Green. Yet, he lingered longer with the latter with the former. He even closed the green-skinned woman's door with a wave of his left hand to insure them some privacy!

"Why did you do that?" she demanded.

"I wish to ask you a question, Milady. One that has pressing need for an immediate answer. Tell me. How does one go from being a Half-elven Renegade to an acolyte of the Twisted Rune?"

She glared at him with undisguised annoyance.

"You are surprisingly well-informed, Lord Vargo. But, in answer to your question; it was not an easy process. One must first be prematurely exposed, by a pure-blood of the Eldreth Veluuthra, as a wolfwere assassin for the Zhentarim..."

Whereupon, she metamorphed into a bipedal lycanthrope!

"...posing as a half-green elf lythari. One is then required to make up for that failure by agreeing to slay a malenti priestess of Umberlee for possession of one of the long-lost tomes... of Sahu."

Up to this point, Vargo had been tickling the lower jaw of his pet black pseudo-dragon while it perched atop his magi-staff. Yet, when he heard the word " _Sahu_ ," he instantly ceased that tickling. Looking at the shapeshifter before him with open-mouthed amazement.

"The Isle of the Necromancer Kings?!"

"None other," growled Imsa. "Then, and only then, can one freely reveal oneself to one's client, a certain drow cleric of Kiaransalee, as actually being a doppelganger!"

For emphasis, she now metamorphed into an androgynous humanoid form that resembled -more than anything else- the desiccated corpse of a drow.

"One secretly working for the Twisted Rune, all along," she added. "...and with orders to eliminate _two_ targets."

The purple-clad Dragon Cultist leaned on his magi-staff and grinned with delight.

"Incredible! How _do_ you keep track of all those deceptions, Milady?"

"Eidetic memory, Lord Vargo. But, now you tell me something."

Here, Imsa resumed her verdant female form.

"Has this little talk reassured you of my prowess for the upcoming task?"

"Yes, indeed! I shall leave you, now, so you may refresh yourself in private after your long journey."

Whereupon, the guest room door opened with just a magical wave of his left hand. Thereby allowing him to walk out backwards, in a deferential half-bow, before straightening back up in the hallway and magically closing the door for a second time.

 **MYSTARAN FOOTHILLS**

 **(THE PRESENT)**

Kaulder and Dobin Goodfellow made camp that first night in a woodland clearing about a hundred miles from the ruins of Myth Draenor. Of course, while Dobin could satisfy his appetite by simply grazing, Kaulder had to do a little rabbit hunting to get himself some meat for supper. Fortunately, the planet Zeist was similar enough to Earth that it proved to even have some of the same kinds of wildlife!

It was while munching on a well-grilled back leg, around seven o'clock later that evening, that he saw a remarkable sight in the starlit sky.

"Whoa! Five moons?! I thought Aranea said Glordelia had only captured three."

The purple unicorn nodded.

"The other two are Zeist's regular moons: Abeir and Toril. The materialization of the other three has played havoc with astrologists all over Midazeroerth. To say nothing of the effect they've had on shipping and fishing through the realignment of tides and currents! That's why you mustn't fail in stealing the Silmarils from Glordelia's tiara. Even if you have to behead her to do it!"

Kaulder looked at the battle ax he had been magically loaned.

"Aranea called this the Ax of Gar Y'gyg. Who was he?"

"A paladin of the ancient Sun Elves. Legend has it that Zeist was once invaded by a race of beings called the Phyrexians. They came from a whole other plane of existence, under the leadership of someone called Yawgmoth, and anyone captured alive by them became one of them. A sort of clockwork-automated lich! They were ultimately driven off, of course. But, only after a massive loss of life on both sides. Including Gar Y'gyg, himself! He sacrificed his own life in order to slay Yawgmoth during that climactic battle. His tomb on the elven island of Evermeet has been venerated as a pilgrimage site ever since."

The next morning, after having jerked rabbit leftovers for breakfast, Kaulder remounted Dobin. Whereupon, the unlikely duo resumed their journey towards Baldur's Gate.

It was eight hours later that they heard the first signs of battle.

"Sounds like it's just to the south of us," observed Kaulder.

"I would advise against buttin' into someone else's business," countered Dobin. "We have a deadline, you know."

"Just a quick recon," replied the eight-hundred-year-old witch hunter. "So, we can at least be sure we're not being followed by someone intending to stop us."

The purple unicorn sighed. "Very well!"

A minute later, they were on top of a slope looking down upon a melee that looked like it had gone poorly for the ones caught in the center of an ever-narrowing circle of bipedal hyenas.

"Gnolls," said Dobin, identifying the latter. "And it looks like they've killed a small platoon of Krugs."

"Krugs?" echoed Kaulder.

"Azure-Bound lizard folk, employed as border guards by the Zhentarim. The ruling merchants' guild of this province! The Krugs ain't too bright. But, they're relentless in battle. That and the fact the gnolls regard them as much tougher eatin', than dwarves and humans, means those two still standin' will wish they'd been killed on the spot!"

"We'll see about that," replied Kaulder.

Whereupon, he blew the Flying Huntsmen horn. And, as anticipated, the gnolls looked skyward! For Kaulder had correctly deduced that, with a name like "Flying Huntsmen," the adventurers in question had to ride either winged horses or giant trained eagles into battle. In either case, the gnolls were bound to look up into the sky rather than up the slope of the hill behind him.

The same hill down which Dobin was now galloping at full speed. His golden alicorn now pointed straight at the back of the nearest gnoll. Seconds later, it howled in terminal pain, as it became impaled on the alicorn, while its comrades either fell to the side or just plain leaped out of the way! Their initial confusion giving Kaulder a quickly-seized opportunity to either fracture their skulls with his shield. Or, to behead them with the battle ax. That, in turn, inspired the dwarf and the young warrior woman to launch their own surprise counter-offensive! Logar Ythm fracturing skulls with his trusty mace, while Helene Frisson virtually dissected her opponents with silver hunting swords that she twirled and whirled and otherwise wielded with literally eye-blurring speed.

The few gnolls who managed to evade all that carnage wound up having their bones pulverized by the pounding front hoofs of either Dobin Goodfellow -still trying to dislodge the impaled gnoll from his alicorn- or Coucou the Pooka -still in black stallion mode. And it was only when they realized that none of the gnolls were still alive that the five combatants ceased their frantic ferocious frenzy.

"Hi, there," said Kaulder, opting to be the one who broke the proverbial ice. "I guess this is the part where we swap autobiographies."

 **tbc**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9.**

The exchange of explanations took the rest of that afternoon. While the unicorn and the pooka horse grazed, Kaulder let Helene Frisson go first. Partly, out of old-fashioned chivalry; partly, so he could get a read on when and where she was from. Consequently, he found himself partially surprised by her account. Rightly judging, by the slight difference in details as he remembered them, that she must have come from a parallel-Earth. He even said as much.

"That's why you look so familiar. The silver swords; the red-hooded riding cloak. You're one of the Sisters of Gabrielle. A werewolf huntress!"

"Among other things, oui. What of you, m'sieur?"

Two hours later, he summarized it, this way.

"We rode out of Myth Draenor, at full gallop, and now here we are."

"Zounds!" exclaimed Logar Ythm. "Most anyone else would find those tales incredulous, Sir Kaulder. But, if there is one ballad known to every bard throughout the Three Kingdoms, it's ' _The Fall of Yawgmoth_ '. The climactic battle against him was fought at Myth Draenor! And, 'tis said that the only reason his decapitation succeeded was due to the handle of Gar Y'gyg's Ax being bejeweled with… all three of the Silmarils."

The last witch hunter carefully examined the weapon in question as he hefted it.

"If that's the case," he replied, "how did Glordelia get hold of them? Assuming they were ever interred with Gar Y'gyg, and the rest of his worldly possessions, in the first place."

"Aye! That's a puzzler, indeed. For the anti-desecration wards of elfin tombs are powerful magicks, in their own right!"

"Another good question," continued Kaulder, "is why these gnolls were after you? Assuming they were targeting you for more than just lunch."

"They were not," Helene interjected, looking at the gaping jaws painted in blood-red upon one of the round shields. "This pack belonged to the Redfang Clan. Malarite mercenaries who sell their swords to the highest bidder!"

She then gasped as the realization hit her. "By Ste. Valerie! How could I possibly know that, when I had not even heard the word ' _gnoll_ ,' before today?"

The dwarf bard shook his head. "I don't know, milady. But, I think I can answer the second question. At the risk of sounding boastful, I'm fairly well-known to have been an entertainer at the camp fires of some of the greatest adventurers in Faerun! I just didn't learn, till recently, that my reputation had preceded me to Pylea."

"Really?" said Kaulder. "How so?"

"Last week, I was hired by an emissary, from Glordelia, to perform at the reception that will follow Her Majesty's wedding, later this week, to her chosen champion: Sir Groosalug!"

Kaulder nodded. "Now, it makes sense. Somebody hired these gnolls to kill you and your armed escort so that they could go to Pylea in your place. Because, as the featured entertainer-"

"-they might get close enough to Glordelia to kill her and steal the Silmarils for themselves!" exclaimed the dwarf bard.

"Oui, messieurs," affirmed Helene. "But, that raises still another question! Tell me, Logar. Were you the only non-Krug among this company?"

Logar shook his head, again. "Nay! There was also their human commander... and Glordelia's emissary!"

Kaulder quickly spun himself about. "I don't see any well-dressed corpses. Do you?"

The other two shook their heads in perfect unison before Kaulder remarked, "We better start riding for Baldur's Gate. Hard and fast!"

Whereupon, they rode off in a cloud of dust, veritably neck and neck. Kaulder atop the unicorn Dobin Goodfellow; and his two new allies atop the pooka horse Coucou.

 **SOMEWHERE IN MANHATTAN'S CHINATOWN**

 **NEW YORK, NEW YORK (MAR. 27, 2014)**

Amal Gam took yet another sip of her tea as she finished explaining to Dolan 36 what had happened.

"I managed to astral project, just before total unconsciousness. That's why I was able to see that Kaulder was abducted by a phase spider!"

"A phase spider?" echoed the Cockney-born priest.

"That is why I have been unable to locate Kaulder through scrying," she explained. "Phase spiders are one of the few creatures, in the whole multiverse, that can teleport _interdimensionally_ under their own power! Even human mages cannot do that. That is why they must journey to places of leyline convergence such as-"

"-the Leng Plateau in northwestern Myanmar?" Dolan finished for her. "Yes, dearie, I know. That's where Dolan 34 bought the farm!"

The condescending smile that accompanied his somewhat melodramatic whisper was cancelled out by the angry glare preceding her sharp rebuke.

"You might be more pious than your twin brother. But, you are definitely just as smug!"

"Sorry, love. I'm just worried, is all. I mean, I can't very well perform my usual duties of aiding and supporting him if he's not even in the same universe anymore!"

"We might be able to help you with that," replied a new and somewhat younger female voice.

 **MEANWHILE, BACK ON ZEIST. . .**

They reached the village of Stonebridge by sunset. And, needless to say, Kaulder and Dobin's appearance caused quite a stir. Although, not as much as Logar did when people beheld the brown leather bag in which the dwarf bard carried his musical instrument. Apparently, the emblem sewn upon it, in white thread -a lyre in between the pointed tips of a crescent moon- was more-than-familiar to the general public.

"Maybe he wasn't idly boasting about his fame," the witch hunter thought to himself.

Then, he took another look at Helene Frisson. There was something more-than-familiar about her as well. Something beyond her outfit. It was another minute or two before it occurred to him.

"The two women Rayne abducted from the restaurant. She's a dead ringer for both of them!"

He was snapped out of his reverie, however, when he heard the village's head man speak up.

"No, sir. We've seen no armored gentlemen come through here, other than your friend, the paladin. And I would definitely remember the other one you described!"

Apparently, Glordelia's emissary had been some kind of wizard locally known as a " _redspawn arcanist_ ". In any event, the dwarf thanked everyone for their time and hospitality. Following which, he told them to carefully stand aside. Advice they heeded the moment Coucou, the black fae-stallion, reared on his hind leg and whinnied. All before taking off in another cloud of dust! Though, not to the extent that he caught the purple unicorn unaware.

"How long before we reach the city limits of Baldur's Gate?" he was forced to shout into Dobin's left ear.

"Just before sunset," replied the latter. "It's there I'll have to take m' leave of you. The Knights of the Flaming Fist do the best they can to maintain law and order there. But, there are still a great many unscrupulous individuals in residence who wouldn't think twice about having the lot of us killed just to get hold of m' alicorn."

"Then, how are we supposed to find that suitable ship and crew you claim we need for the trip to Pylea?" demanded Kaulder.

"Ask about at the Gray Hawk Inn. It's the most popular watering hole among the sea-dogs who frequent this port!"

Dobin proved correct. By sunset, they were on a hill overlooking the city's southern land-side entrance. Whereupon, Dobin wished them all the best of luck before turning around and running back south towards his beloved Faerun.

 **tbc**

 **Author's Notes:**

 **Malarite** : _of or pertaining to worshipers of Malar the Beastlord (god of evil lycanthropes)._


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

 **By Carycomic**

 **BROCELIANDE FOREST**

 **NEAR KINTIN, FRANCE (1767)**

 **EARTH-06072009**

Jean Chastel had not been born a wizard.

The son of a Shadowlord ragabash by a Fianna Kinswoman of theurge auspice, he had born into the Songkeeper sept, in the Finisterre region of Brittany, northwestern France, circa 1740, of ahroun auspice. And, as is customary among most Garou, he had been raised by his mother's tribe. Such being the case, it was not long before he discovered that his mother was also a vulva, or changeling sorceress, for House Eiluned of the Seelie Court! That, in turn, led him to join the wizarding Order of Hermes once it became obvious, with the onset of puberty, that the gift of lycanthropomorphosis was going to be permanently dormant within him.

Just as it had been with his mother.

Initially, he was a student of House Merinita. Later on, however, he transferred to House Flambeau. There, as part of a consortium with House Verditius , he learned how to channel pyrokinesis for metal-working purposes. Including the forging of weapons like knives and firearms! Consequently, he was working as a gunsmith in Belgium, after his graduation from the order, when he was paid an unexpected visit…

...by his mother.

"You were not an only child, Jean. Prior to meeting with me, your father had mated with a Red Talon philodox, whom he led to believe he was just lupine Kinfolk. I can only imagine how she felt upon learning the truth! In any event, their metis was raised by the Children of Gaia, according to Garou law. But, though they did their best to nurture him properly, they still could not prevent his self-hatred from turning into hatred... of your father. Especially after he fell in with bad company. A nephandic reject of House Bjornaer named Fenris Greybeard."

"Par La Barbe de Merlin!" exclaimed Jean. "An animage-noir?!"

"Oui. And the worst evil act perpetrated by the both of them... was the murder of your father. They have since split up to double the chances of their evading pursuit. So, while I, of course, have the Songkeepers working in concert with Gaian ahrouns, to capture Greybeard, I have persuaded the alpha ahroun to let _you_ be the one to capture your half-brother. For it takes a Shadowlord to catch a Shadowlord!"

"Ou est le batard, maintenant?" demanded her son.

"Currently, terrorizing the muggles of Gevaudan with the assistance of a small pack of Red Talon Kinfolk. Half-siblings! From his mother's side of the family."

She spat on the ground to her left as she uttered those last two words.

"I shall leave at dawn," Jean had assured her.

That had been two weeks ago. Now, he was at the Convent of Ste. Valerie du Petit Chaperone Rouge, explaining to the reverend mother just what had happened. Followed by a few questions that he asked as politely, but firmly, as he knew how to do so!

"I thought the ladies of your order only hunted rogue Garou."

"For the most part, c'est vrai. But, on certain occasions, they must... diversify. For example; when some of those rogue Garou serve in the employ of Les Enfants De Nuit!"

"Ah! D'accord. But, if that were the case in point, here, why would the Kiasyd have made off with Soeur Helene and not the body of La Bete de Gevaudan? Is there something... special about her?"

The reverend mother closed her eyes, and clasped her hands together in prayer, for a few moments. Then, she reopened them after a faint nod.

"Soeur Helene did not come to us as an adolescent student. We found her as a newborn, on our front doorstep, one dark winter evening, more than twenty years ago. Her birth-mother cradling her, and shivering with cold, as she christened le pauvre cher with her dying breath!"

 **MEANWHILE, BACK ON PLANET ZEIST...**

Kaulder told Helene, Coucou, and Logar what the purple unicorn had told him. Doing so as they walked towards the southern land-side entrance to the notorious port city. With Logar riding the black fae-stallion while Helene held on to the latter's bridle.

"If do we find such a ship and crew," the immortal witch hunter finally concluded. "...your pooka will have to stay behind! Unless, of course, he changed into something else more easily transportable aboard a ship. Like, say, maybe a mastiff?"

The werewolf huntress looked at him. "How did you know he was a pooka?"

Kaulder smiled. "How else could he have kept pace with a galloping unicorn?"

"In that case," replied Coucou. "...instead of a bloody English mastiff, how would you feel about a Danish boar hound?"

Whereupon, he metamorphed into a melanistic Great Dane! The illusion of a saddle disappearing as his passenger yelped in surprise at the sudden descent in height.

"Name of Milil!" exclaimed the dwarf bard. "Would you give some advance warnin' the next time before you do that?"

The fae-canine merely chuckled in response.

So it was that they came to the south gate of Baldur's Gate. There, they were inspected by a contingent of Flaming Fists and their rather bored-looking captain.

"Identify yourselves and state your business."

"The name's Kaulder. This is my sister, Gabrielle. Her boar hound Brutus. . ."

The werewolf huntress partially raised her right eyebrow. Otherwise, she evinced no surprise at this rather unexpected prevarication.

"...and our client, Logar. The greatest bard in the Faerunian Empire!"

The captain looked them over with a plainly skeptical expression on his face.

"If he's so great, why do you have him riding that overgrown scrap eater?"

' _Brutus_ ' growled to show that he knew the captain was talking about him.

"We lost our saddle mounts to a Malarite ambush near the Faerunian border. Along with our pack mules and our Krug escort. The four of us were just plain lucky not to join them!"

"Malarites, eh? What kind of Malarites?"

"Redfang gnolls. Ever heard of them?"

"I've had enough run-ins with them to know they rarely stoop to common highway robbery! Why would they ambush you lot?"

Kaulder shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe they were out to take him hostage and hold him for ransom."

He pointed to Logar as he said this, before adding. "After all, he was recently hired by the Queen of Pylea, herself, to perform at her upcoming wedding!"

The captain centered his skeptical gaze on the dwarf. "Is that so?"

Logar could not help grinning as he displayed the lyre-and-half-moon emblem on his leather bag.

"Does this answer your question, captain?"

The captain immediately became wide-eyed with astonishment, as he and his men suddenly snapped to attention.

"Oh! Uh, yes. Yes, sir! It certainly does. Please proceed."

Kaulder, of course, was curious about this sudden change in attitude. But, he was experienced enough to put that curiosity on a temporary leash. Instead, he thanked the captain before asking if the latter knew the location of the Gray Hawk Inn.

"Oh, yes. You can't miss it. It's the largest establishment on Frontage Street, near the docks."

As they parted company with the guardsmen, Helene looked at Kaulder, unable to restrain her own curiosity any longer.

"Why did you tell him only half the truth?"

"Because, if we're right about why those gnolls were after Logar, then that ambush could only have been set up by someone with inside information."

"You mean, a spy?!"

Kaulder nodded. "Assuming that Glordelia wasn't nicknamed _'The Witch-Queen'_ for nothing, then it stands to reason she might have more than one enemy waiting to overthrow her at the first opportunity. Either out of fear, resentment, jealous ambition, or all of the above. In any case, conspirators require spies to give them vital information. And one or two of those spies might be at the inn along with Logar's (admittedly still hypothetical) impostor. The best way to prove that hypothesis is to flush them out! Unfortunately, the best way to flush them out. . ."

"...is for me to arrive at the inn, alive and well," replied the dwarf. "Ha-ha! 'Tis risky, alright. But, clever."

No sooner had he made that pronouncement than the curious-looking quartet arrived at their destination. The clearest indicator of such being a large, wooden, white-painted sign with a grayish-colored bird of prey alighting atop a gloved left hand.

Upon entering the foyer, the innkeeper- -a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair- -came running up to them, an eager smile on his face.

"Greetings, noble travelers? How may I help you, this evening?"

"Some supper would be good, to start with, I think," replied Logar. "Then, lodgings for the night for all four of us."

The dwarf bard indicated ' _Brutus_ ', whose soft warning growl was subtly reinforced with a telepathic ' _whisper_ ' to make no contest about letting the ' _dog_ ' stay with his ' _owners_ '.

"Certainly! Please, follow me."

Meanwhile, back at the south gate to the city, the captain of the guard had just finished rolling up five scrolls, sealing them with hot red wax, and then placing them in five burlap sacks with draw strings that he similarly fastened shut.

"This one is for the regional commander of the Knights of the Unicorn. The rest are for his counterparts in the Red Plumes, the Silver Lancers, the Flying Huntsmen, and the Order of the Blue Boar, respectively. Until each of them is handed over, you are to ride non-stop! Hence, the extra mounts. Do I make myself clear?"

"Sir! Yes, sir!" chorused the five messengers, before vaulting into their saddles and galloping off in perfect unison.

"What of me, sir?" asked the sixth messenger, a recent addition to the local company of the Flaming Fists.

"You are to commit this one to memory, word for word, before riding hells-for-leather for Zhentil Keep. Understood?"

"Sir! Yes, sir."

The new recruit then read the message, silent shaping every word as he began the memorization.

"Milords! Harper agent survived ambush, along with two others. Plus one war dog. Second survivor is human male (possibly free-lance paladin); third survivor is female (possibly half-elf ranger). All four staying at Gray Hawk Inn. Please advise!- - -Vrackmul."

 **tbc**

 **REQUIRED GLOSSARY**

 **House Eiluned:** _one of the leading houses of the Seelie Court._

 **Seelie Court:** _the Sidhe, or fae, aristocracy who rule between the vernal and autumnal equinoxes in White Wolf Games' "Classic World of Darkness."_

 **MISC. ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS**

" _By Merlin's Beard! A dark animagus?!_ "

" _Where's the bastard, now?_ "

"... _that is true_."

" _Ah! Of course_."

"... _the poor dear_..."

" _The Children of Night_."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11.**

by Carycomic

 **BROCELIANDE FOREST**

 **NEAR KINTIN, FRANCE (1767)**

 **EARTH-06072009**

Jean Chastel had not been born a wizard.

The son of a Shadowlord ragabash by a Fianna Kinswoman of theurge auspice, he had born into the Songkeeper sept, in the Finisterre region of Brittany, northwestern France, circa 1740, of ahroun auspice. And, as is customary among most Garou, he had been raised by his mother's tribe. Such being the case, it was not long before he discovered that his mother was also a vulva, or changeling sorceress for House Eiluned of the Seelie Court! That, in turn, led him to join the wizarding Order of Hermes once it became obvious, with the onset of puberty, that the gift of lycanthropomorphosis was going to be permanently dormant within him.

Just as it had been with his mother.

Initially, he was a student of House Merinita. Later on, however, he transferred to House Flambeau. There, as part of a consortium with House Verditius, he learned how to channel pyrokinesis for metal-working purposes. Including the forging of weapons like knives and firearms! Consequently, he was working as a gunsmith in Belgium, after his graduation from the order, when he was paid an unexpected visit...

...by his mother.

"You were not an only child, Jean. Prior to meeting with me, your father had mated with a Red Talon philodox, whom he led to believe he was just lupine Kinfolk. I can only imagine how she felt upon learning the truth! In any event, their metis was raised by the Children of Gaia, according to Garou law. But, though they did their best to nurture him properly, they still could not prevent his self-hatred from turning into hatred... of your father. Especially after he fell in with bad company. A nephandic reject of House Bjornaer named Fenris Greybeard."

"Par La Barbe de Merlin!" exclaimed Jean. "An animage-noir?!"

"Oui. And the worst evil act perpetrated by the both of them... was the murder of your father. They have since split up to double the chances of their evading pursuit. So, while I, of course, have the Songkeepers working in concert with Gaian ahrouns, to capture Greybeard, I have persuaded the alpha ahroun to let _you_ be the one to capture your half-brother. For it takes a Shadowlord to catch a Shadowlord!"

"Ou est le batard, maintenant?" demanded her son.

"Currently, terrorizing the muggles of Gevaudan with the assistance of a small pack of Red Talon Kinfolk. Half-siblings! From his mother's side of the family."

She spat on the ground to her left as she uttered those last two words.

"I shall leave at dawn," Jean had assured her.

That had been two weeks ago. Now, he was at the Convent of Ste. Valerie du Petit Chaperone Rouge, explaining to the reverend mother just what had happened. Followed by a few questions that he asked as politely (but firmly) as he knew how to do so!

"I thought the ladies of your order only hunted rogue Garou."

"For the most part, c'est vrai. But, on certain occasions, they must... diversify. For example, when some of those rogue Garou serve in the employ of Les Enfants De Nuit!"

"Ah! D'accord. But, if that were the case in point, here, why would the Kiasyd have made off with Soeur Helene and not the body of La Bete de Gevaudan? Is there something... special about her?"

The reverend mother closed her eyes, and clasped her hands together in prayer, for a few moments. Then, she reopened them after a faint nod.

"Soeur Helene did not come to us as an adolescent student. We found her as a newborn, on our front doorstep, one dark winter evening, more than twenty years ago. Her birth-mother cradling her, and shivering with cold, as she christened le pauvre cher with her dying breath!"

MEANWHILE, BACK ON PLANET ZEIST. . .

Kaulder told Helene, Coucou, and Logar what the purple unicorn had told him. Doing so as they walked towards the southern land-side entrance to the notorious port city. With Logar riding the black fae-stallion while Helene held on to the latter's bridle.

"If do we find such a ship and crew," the immortal witch hunter finally concluded, "...your pooka will have to stay behind! Unless, of course, he changed into something else more easily transportable aboard a ship. Like, say, maybe a mastiff?"

The werewolf huntress looked at him. "How did you know he was a pooka?"

Kaulder smiled. "How else could he have kept pace with a galloping unicorn?"

"In that case," replied Coucou, "...instead of a bloody English mastiff, how would you feel about a Danish boar hound?"

Whereupon, he metamorphed into a melanistic Great Dane! The illusion of a saddle disappearing as his passenger yelped in surprise at the sudden descent in height.

"Name of Milil!" exclaimed the dwarf bard. "Would you give some advance warnin' the next time before you do that?"

The fae-canine merely chuckled in response.

So it was that they came to the south gate of Baldur's Gate. There, they were inspected by a contingent of Flaming Fists and their rather bored-looking captain.

"Identify yourselves and state your business."

"The name's Kaulder. This is my sister, Gabrielle. Her boar hound Brutus..."

The werewolf huntress partially raised her right eyebrow. Otherwise, she evinced no surprise at this rather unexpected prevarication.

"...and our client, Logar. The greatest bard in the Faerunian Empire!"

The captain looked them over with a plainly skeptical expression on his face.

"If he's so great, why do you have him riding that overgrown scrap eater?"

" _Brutus_ " growled to show that he knew the captain was talking about him.

"We lost our saddle mounts to a Malarite ambush near the Faerunian border. Along with our pack mules and our Krug escort. The four of us were just plain lucky not to join them!"

"Malarites, eh? What kind of Malarites?"

"Redfang gnolls. Ever heard of them?"

"I've had enough run-ins with them to know they rarely stoop to common highway robbery! Why would they ambush you lot?"

Kaulder shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe they were out to take him hostage and hold him for ransom."

He pointed to Logar as he said this, before adding. "After all, he was recently hired by the Queen of Pylea, herself, to perform at her upcoming wedding!"

The captain centered his skeptical gaze on the dwarf. "Is that so?"

Logar could not help grinning as he displayed the lyre-and-half-moon emblem on his leather bag.

"Does this answer your question, captain?"

The captain immediately became wide-eyed with astonishment, as he and his men suddenly snapped to attention.

"Oh! Uh, yes. Yes, sir! It certainly does. Please proceed."

Kaulder, of course, was curious about this sudden change in attitude. But, he was experienced enough to put that curiosity on a temporary leash. Instead, he thanked the captain before asking if the latter knew the location of the Gray Hawk Inn.

"Oh, yes. You can't miss it. It's the largest establishment on Frontage Street, near the docks."

As they parted company with the guardsmen, Helene looked at Kaulder, unable to restrain her own curiosity any longer.

"Why did you tell him only half the truth?"

"Because, if we're right about why those gnolls were after Logar, then that ambush could only have been set up by someone with inside information."

"You mean, a spy?!"

Kaulder nodded. "Assuming that Glordelia wasn't nicknamed 'The Witch-Queen' for nothing, then it stands to reason she might have more than one enemy waiting to overthrow her at the first opportunity. Either out of fear, resentment, jealous ambition, or all of the above. In any case, conspirators require spies to give them vital information. And one or two of those spies might be at the inn along with Logar's (admittedly still hypothetical) impostor. The best way to prove that hypothesis is to flush them out! Unfortunately, the best way to flush them out..."

"...is for me to arrive at the inn, alive and well," replied the dwarf. "Ha-ha! 'Tis risky, alright. But, clever."

No sooner had he made that pronouncement than the curious-looking quartet arrived at their destination. The clearest indicator of such being a large, wooden, white-painted sign with a grayish-colored bird of prey alighting atop a gloved left hand.

Upon entering the foyer, the innkeeper- -a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair- -came running up to them, an eager smile on his face.

"Greetings, noble travelers? How may I help you, this evening?"

"Some supper would be good, to start with, I think," replied Logar. "Then, lodgings for the night for all four of us."

The dwarf bard indicated " _Brutus_ ", whose soft warning growl was subtly reinforced with a telepathic " _whisper_ " to make no contest about letting the " _dog_ " stay with his " _owners_ ".

"Certainly! Please, follow me."

Meanwhile, back at the south gate to the city, the captain of the guard had just finished rolling up five scrolls, sealing them with hot red wax, and then placing them in five burlap sacks with draw strings that he similarly fastened shut.

"This one is for the regional commander of the Knights of the Unicorn. The rest are for his counterparts in the Red Plumes, the Silver Lancers, the Flying Huntsmen, and the Order of the Blue Boar, respectively. Until each of them is handed over, you are to ride non-stop! Hence, the extra mounts. Do I make myself clear?"

"Sir! Yes, sir!" chorused the five messengers, before vaulting into their saddles and galloping off in perfect unison.

"What of me, sir?" asked the sixth messenger, a recent addition to the local company of the Flaming Fists.

"You are to commit this one to memory, word for word, before riding hells-for-leather for Zhentil Keep. Understood?"

"Sir! Yes, sir."

The new recruit then read the message, silent shaping every word as he began the memorization.

" _Milords! Harper agent survived ambush, along with two others. Plus one war dog. Second survivor is human male (possibly free-lance paladin); third survivor is female (possibly half-elf ranger). All four staying at Gray Hawk Inn. Please advise!- - -Vrackmul_."

 **tbc**

 **REQUIRED GLOSSARY**

 **House Eiluned:** _one of the leading houses of the Seelie Court._

 **Seelie Court:** _the Sidhe, or fae, aristocracy who rule between the vernal and autumnal equinoxes in White Wolf Games' "Classic World of Darkness"._

 **MISC. ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS**

 _"By Merlin's Beard! A dark animagus?!"_

 _"Where's the bastard, now?"_

 _"...that is true."_

 _"Ah! Of course."_

 _"...the poor dear..."Drag the icon to your taskbar to pin Message Center._ _Close_

 _"The Children of Night."_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12.**

 **THE GRAY HAWK INN,**

 **BALDUR'S GATE, EHB,**

 **(THE PLANET ZEIST)**

The disparate trio gave their orders to the innkeeper, including the beverages they most wanted as a liquid " _appetizers_ ". And it was only after these had been brought to them that Kaulder looked at his traveling companions with a once-more serious expression on his face.

"So, Logar! What can you tell us about the natives of Pylea? I mean, if my theory is more than just smoke in the wind, it would be nice to know which segment of her people might be conspiring against Glordelia and who might be loyal to her."

The dwarf bard grinned. "Well, now, ethnically, the island is dominated by greenspawn half-orcs partially descended from a now-undead green dragon elder called Aglaurosa. But, who, like the gnolls and my people, are divided into clans. Theocratically, however, the island is governed by a cult of redspawn arcanists of partial Githyanki descent called the Covenant of Trombli."

"Trombli?" echoed Helene Frisson, in puzzlement.

"The demi-god they worship. Supposedly, the son and only child of a red dragon elder called Tchazzar by Vlaakith: their deified ancestress. With the Witch-Queen, herself, supposedly bein' her reincarnation!"

"Why ' _supposedly_?' " Kaulder asked, quick to seize on the stressed repetition of that adverb.

"Because she's fair-skinned like the three of us! Which doesn't sit well with the fundamentalist redspawns. And that goes double for the greenspawn aristocracy... who keep fair-skinned humans as slaves."

"So," mused Kaulder. "Religious zealots and racists. Both of whom have one thing in common; they hate Glordelia's complexion. Politics does, indeed, make strange bedfellows."

Both the dwarf and the werewolf huntress looked at him strangely. Making him grin in partial embarrassment.

"Just an expression coined by an old friend of mine. A bard, like yourself. Except he lived in a small town... called Stratford-on-Avon."

"None of this does us any good, however," objected Helene. "Not if we cannot make it to Pylea before the Witch-Queen's wedding. And if Pylea does, indeed, lie on this world's equator, then, even if those three extra moons in the sky were not so adversely affecting the oceans, we would still not be able to sail there in under a week."

"Then maybe what you landlubbers need is a good airjammer!"

The disparate quartet (including " _Brutus_ ") looked up at the sound of the new voice. There, over Helene's right shoulder, stood another woman. Fair-skinned; perhaps, five years older; with raven-black hair styled upward in a bun; and with a man's light-blue blouse barely fitting over her ample breast. While her slightly darker blue trousers barely covered her midriff.

"Sorry," she continued. "Didn't mean to eavesdrop. But, the place is packed, tonight! And your table is right behind mine."

"So it is," replled Kaulder. "And who might you be?"

"Marchesa Damati," replied the sultry brunette. "Captain of the Black Rose! At your service."

Kaulder grinned. "And I take it ' _The Black Rose_ ' is the name of your... what kind of vessel did you call it, again?"

"An airjammer," replied Helene. "A ship that sails through the skies the way maritime ships traverse the sea. It is the only way Faerunians can do any commerce with lands beyond the Unapproachable Eastern Forest. "

Everyone looked at her.

"That's right," declared Captain Damati. "It's the result of their being manufactured in the Kingdom of Halruaa, in southern-central Faerun. The sails are made using the same enchantments as are put on their flying carpets. While the wing-shaped oars are powered by the artificial lightning generated by the clockwork gears carved from electrum."

"Electrum?" echoed Kaulder.

"A naturally occurring alloy of silver and gold, found only in Halruaa."

Once more, it was Helene who answered. Displaying knowledge, she had no idea how she knew! And, once more, she was the center of incredulous stares.

"You're very well informed, miss," the sultry sea-goer observed. "Did you spend much time in Halruaa? Perhaps as the daughter of... Carpian refugees?"

"Yes!" exclaimed the young French woman almost too quickly. "You guessed correctly. No doubt when I let my... accent slip."

"In any case," said Logar, now taking up the conversation. "Would you be willing to take the four of us to Pylea aboard The Black Rose, if we were to make it worth your while? Say, on the first good seaward breeze after dawn?"

"Well," she melodramatically paused. "I have to admit that's pretty short notice. But, luckily for you lot, I have the best first mate and navigator in the world working for me. Drenax!"

Whereupon, a young male humanoid with a turquoise complexion, long matching-colored hair; and pointed ears (dressed in white blouse and brown slacks with matching boots) stepped forward.

Logar looked him up and down. "Aquatic half-elf?"

Drenax grinned. "Close! Para-genasi.* Wind-and-water-souled."

"And that's the only reason our ship could depart in the time frame you stated a preference for," Captain Damati added. "Which will naturally be somewhat expensive."

"Naturally," replied Kaulder, before looking at Logar. "Did Her Majesty advance you enough money that you might be able to cover the good captain's fee?"

Now, it was the dwarf bard who grinned. "Naturally!"

"Then, you've got yourself a ship!" exclaimed the buxom raven-haired brunette. "Mind if we join you so we can finalize the smaller details?"

Kaulder smiled and gestured with very sincere gratitude at the only two empty chairs remaining at their table.

Helene Frisson tuned out the haggling of the others. Instead, she leaned down to pat " _Brutus_ " on the head with her right hand. Yet, even as she did so, she locked eyes with the pooka dog. Consequently, she seemed to have a vision. A vision of men fighting... and screaming... and dying.

 _"Milord! Our defenses have been breached!"_

 _"Take my wife and daughter to safety."_

 _"No! We won't leave without. . ."_

 _"GO!"_

All of that concluding with the image of a rapidly shrinking castle engulfed in flames.

Helene shook her head. She then looked to her left and beheld four pairs of eyes fixed upon her.

"Je vous demande pardon! It has been a long day. I must be more fatigued than I thought."

Kaulder half-smiled. "I can empathize! What say we all get rooms for the night, so we can get to bed as soon as possible?"

Logar grinned. "A capital idea."

 **tbc**

 **GLOSSARY**

 **Para-genasi:** _generic term for any offspring born of one fully human parent and a half-mortal djinn._

 **Wind-and-water-souled:** _any mage born with the elemental abilities called "aerokinesis" and "hydrokinesis."_


End file.
